


when they get what they want and they never want it again

by bewareoftrips



Series: After School Specials [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Multi, Riverparents, fredsythe, gladsythe, parentdale, post school pre kids age, sad pining fp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/pseuds/bewareoftrips
Summary: After seven years away FP returns to the town where nothing ever really changes to confront his past.
Relationships: Alice Cooper & FP Jones II, Alice Cooper/Gladys Jones, FP Jones II & Gladys Jones, FP Jones II/Gladys Jones, Fred Andrews & FP Jones II, Fred Andrews/FP Jones II, Fred Andrews/Mary Andrews, Mary Andrews & FP Jones II
Series: After School Specials [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1141205
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	when they get what they want and they never want it again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexualfpjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/gifts).



The bus pulls into the Greendale bus depot some twenty minutes early but Fred is there already. Fred in his flannel shirt and faded blue jeans with his thumbs tucked into the belt loops, his eyes surveying each person as they exit

FP stays in his seat and lets everyone pass, the tinted windows hiding him from view.

When the last person gets off he watches Fred’s neck crane back and forth, as if he could have missed him in his excitement. He even turns back and looks at the parking lot, then down at his watch.

“End of the line, son.” 

The harsh voice startles him. The bus driver looks at him with contempt even though he hasn’t said boo the entire trip. Once upon a time, when he was a wise cracking, good-for-nothing teenager, he would have given the old coot lip without thinking twice. Old himself now at the not-so-ripe age of twenty-five, he doesn’t think it’s worth it. Just grabs his bags from the overhead compartment and mutters thanks without really meaning it. 

The sun is blinding. So blinding that he doesn’t even see Fred until his arms are already around him. FP’s duffle drops to the asphalt with a thud as Fred tightens his grip around him. 

There’s a stunned second where he doesn’t know what to do. His half-assed military training wants him to shove Fred off, to know this kind of behavior is a big no-no, especially in public. But then it hits him that he hasn’t been military in a long time. That he was practically back in his hometown where a Jones and Andrews embracing wasn’t strange at all. Well, where he and Fred embracing wasn’t strange at all anyway. The two went together like peanut butter and bananas. 

He hugs him back. Hugs him back and all of a sudden they’re eighteen and Fred is dropping him off here in the first place to leave for basic training not a month after graduation. It’d been bittersweet then but it’s a whole different kind of bitter now. 

“Freddie.” His voice comes out in a choke as Fred finally loosens his grip. He’d gotten stronger or maybe FP had gotten weaker but the hug was more powerful than he remembered. “You grew up.”

Fred holds him at arm’s length and laughs. That all encompassing laugh that used to set him off too and land them both in detention when they did it in the middle of class. 

“I grew up?” Fred questions as he pats his arms. “Look at you!”

“What the hell is this?” FP takes a chance and rubs the scruff on Fred’s cheek. “I almost thought you had some dirt on your face. Is that supposed to be a beard?”

Fred shoves his hand away good naturedly. He looks FP up and down one more time and pulls him into another hug.

FP holds his breath, sure if he lets it out a sob might come out too. He doesn’t know if coming home was the biggest mistake of his life or leaving in the first place was but one thing was for certain.

Nothing ever really changes here.

* * *

The door to Fred’s new house on Elm Street isn’t locked, just like the door of his old house on Sycamore was never locked when they were kids. 

Nothing really changes in Riverdale. Not really.

As if to prove it, the two girls who sit at the battered wooden table in the dining room may as well have been the same two girls there all those years ago. Not girls anymore though. Women now. 

Mary still has that same wide grin and eyes than can never quite hide their disappointment in him. She looks tired. Exhausted really. Studying for the bar, planning a wedding, moving into the new house that needed a ton of work. FP was sure it all took its toll.

Alice may look different, but her scowl and eyeroll are the same one he’s known since childhood. Maybe Alice from the Southside never wore pastel dresses with matching cardigans, but there was no denying the mean look she gives him. That nothing about her has changed, not really.

“Hey Mare,” he says as the redhead leaps on him and plants a kiss on his scruffy cheek. Alice doesn’t move, just licks another envelope. “Been a while.”

“Been a while?” She holds him at arm’s length just like Fred did, trying her damndest not to judge every inch of him too hard. “Nearly seven years, FP. I don’t see you in seven years and all you say is ‘been a while?’”

He doesn’t answer. Just tossels her short hair and turns to the other girl - no, the other woman. “Hey Al.”

“Forgive me if I don’t get up.” She pats her rounded belly with a smile after dropping a cream colored envelope on the growing pile. “I’m supposed to be taking it easy. For the baby, you know.”

“Congratulations.” He draws the word out and Mary digs her nails into him, already knowing where his mind has gone. “Any idea who the father is?”

The self important grin wipes off Alice's face in an instant, but Fred chuckles from the doorway. Fred could never resist his jokes.

Yeah. Nothing ever really changes here. 

Alice waves another envelope at him, just starting to crinkle the sides. “I will have you know -” 

Fred snatchs the envelope before it’s entirely ruined. “Who would have thought Hal had it in him, right?”

“Fred!” Mary hisses and Fred darts away before either woman can whack him in the head. FP exchanges a look with Fred as if to say ‘didn’t we know since senior year Hal has, in fact, had it in him to do such a thing?’ But Fred is all laughs and Alice is more annoyed than upset and maybe no one talks about those things anymore.

“We’re just messing with you, Al. Relax.” He turns back to FP. “Be nice to the neighbors,” he winks, “we’re trying to stay on their good side.”

And FP remembers why this house was so familiar. That he’d looked at it every time he wound up at the Coopers and thought how small it looked compared to the other Elm Street homes. “Living with your in-laws? How’d Hal talk you into that?”

Alice glares and goes back to picking up envelopes - carefully this time even though he can see she’s irritated. “Hal didn’t get me to agree to anything. His parents decided that a three bed, four bath home was quite lavish for a couple on the verge of retirement and gifted it to us as a wedding present.” She seals another envelope and places it on the pile. “It’s so nice to have people looking out for you.”

He knows it’s supposed to be a dig, but Alice grew up with a dad that wasn’t exactly winning any father of the year awards either. Sure, he never broke her arm, but he knew Roger Smith did enough to make his daughter pack her bags and never look back once she got the opportunity. Found a new family to be her own. 

Once upon a time he would have called Alice his closest family, the serpents his closest family, Fred his closest family. Now he didn’t have anyone.

He looks at Fred whose eyes are darting nervously between them despite the smile on his face. Mary still has one hand clutched to FP’s arm. Alice licks another envelope. 

“Wedding invitations?” He finally breaks the silence. Alice rolls her eyes at the obvious but Mary gives his arm a little squeeze. 

“You don’t want to help, do you?” She nudges him good naturedly. “I know your penmanship was always crap but you can be on stamp duty.”

Fred saves him from making up an excuse. “He just got off a long bus ride, Mare.” He slings his arm around FP despite being a few inches too short to do it comfortably. “I think he wants a shower and a nap.”

Fred’s touch warms him in a not so foreign way. “You saying I stink?” 

“Big time.” 

They both laugh and Fred turns him towards the staircase in the foyer. Mary and Alice exchange a quick glance before Mary yells out after them, “Don’t you want something to eat first, FP? You must be starving.”

He’s lived off nothing but truck stop fast food for the last few days but something about changing his clothes and washing the Greyhound grime off him beats the growl in his gut.

“Maybe in a bit.” He turns back to Fred but she yells again.

“A sandwich at least? Alice can fix you up -”

“Fred can fix him up,” Alice corrects.

“- a sandwich while I go make up the bed in the guest room.”

Fred pauses on the stairs and leans over the bannister to get a better look at her. “I told you I set up the bed in there this morning.”

She puts her hands on her hips, an all too mothering gesture that makes FP flashback to 16-year-old Mary always looking out for them. “You never tuck the corners right, Fred. Let me just go fix it.”

FP gives Fred a nudge so they can keep walking upstairs. “I was in the army, Mary. Making your bed is day one.”

He just makes out the sound of a chair scraping against the floor - no doubt Alice about to chase them as well - and Mary’s footsteps follow them. 

Fred opens the door to the guest room and FP walks right into him as he stops. He turns around and cranes his head over FP’s shoulder.

“What the hell is this?” 

FP gets a glimpse of a huge blue box with a white bow and ribbon sitting on the bed. He sees the word Spiffany’s stamped on the side. 

Mary comes up behind them and forces a smile. “A wedding gift.”

“We didn’t get married yet.”

“Then I guess that makes it an engagement gift.”

“Don’t tell me -”

“Fred, Hermione is just trying -”

“I don’t want any gift from,” Fred spits out the words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth, "Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Lodge.” 

Mary shoves FP out of her way so she can be toe to toe with Fred. 

“You’re being a child. It’s just a gift -”

“What the hell can we possibly need from Spiffany’s, huh?” He gestures at the box as FP backs up towards the stairs. “A crystal gravy boat?”

“Don’t be stupid!” Her voice drops. “It’s a crystal punch bowl and matching ladle.” 

“Oh wow!” Fred exclaims sarcastically as FP slowly makes his way down the carpeted stairs. “Just what we need! It’ll be great at all of our black tie dinner parties!”

There was always something he found cute about Fred and Mary arguing when they were kids. Now he feels as bad as if it were his own two parents up there. 

Alice stands at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the bannister and the other on her hip, looking like she’s weighing the pros and cons of climbing. She takes a step back when he comes down to keep the gaping distance between them and crosses her arms over her chest.

“So,” she looks him up and down, her eyes screaming judgement, “army not work out for you?”

“Oh fuck off.” He makes to walk right into her but she stands her ground and glares at him. “What? You just assume I failed? I’ve been gone for over six years. You think I’ve been, what? Fucking around across the country all this time? Nothing but some basic training drop out?”

Her eyes rear into him, blue and ice cold. “I don’t think anything. I know.” She ticks her fingers off with each line. “I know you made it eighteen months into your service and were then dishonorably discharged for reasons you’re probably not going to own up to nor do I care to pry out of you. I know all those letters you sent Fred were postmarked from whatever backwards ass town you managed to land work in for a few months at a time. I know you’re real lucky he’s always thought the sun shines out of your ass and he probably wouldn’t believe it if we told him which, also lucky you, I have too much of a heart to do to Fred.” FP snorts but she continues. “And I know that stupid beard and haircut means you haven’t been anywhere near the military for years.”

He glances over his shoulder but there’s no need, he can still hear Fred and Mary sniping at each other. He raises his arms in mock surrender. 

“What, Alice? You waited around here all day just to say ‘gotcha?’ You already so bored being a housewife -”

“I have a job, thank you very much.”

“Some hair isn’t enough -”

“Casey Keller retired from the bank last year.” Alice examines her nails, feigning boredom. “You know, Tom Keller’s mom?” An unpleasant prickle comes over him. “I covered her retirement party. After a few white wine spriters that women will divulge neary every detail of her son’s life, including all those doting letters he sent her while you two were still stationed together.” Alice grins. “I have a job as a staff reporter for The Riverdale Register which I am also on my way to becoming co-owner of. Don’t underestimate the local press.”

His eyes roll and he knows this annoys her more than his lying. “What do you want, Alice? To gloat? To tell on me?”

She gives a small shrug and straightens her shoulders. “He missed you, you know. And you lied about where you’ve been all these years.” She shakes her head slowly. “Why’d you even come back?”

_ Because someone finally wanted me back _ , he thinks. He still sees the letter in his hand from three weeks ago. The one with half a dozen stamps on it, postmarked to hell, before it finally found its way to him down in Florida. One letter chasing him through a handful of address changes.  _ Because Freddie is getting married and he wants me there. He asked for me and only me and said he couldn’t do it on his own. Couldn’t get married on his own. Couldn’t start this new chapter in his life without me by his side. _

“FP?” Alice is waving a hand in front of him and there’s something in her face short of concern. “You losing it or something?”

“Something.” He stares down at her. “My old man still around?”

She shrugs. “Skipped town a few years ago from what I heard.”

“Dead?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. And your old man?”

“Dead.” The answer is short, precise. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Next.”

“Hogeye?”

“Around.”

“Barry?”

“Still kicking.”

“Tall Boy?”

“Prison.”

“Mustang?”

“Fresh out of prison.”

“Birdie?”

Alice huffs. “That bitch will survive nuclear war.”

“Teddy?”

“Moved to Centerville.”

“Bonnie?”

“Married last year. Moved to Toledo.”

He’s taken back. “Bonnie Cohen? Married? To who?”

“Remember the Stanfords who owned Riverdale Drugs?”

“She married Mr. Stanford?”

Alice shakes her head, her curls flying. “No, he’s dead. She married Mrs. Stanford.”

“Huh.” He considers this news. Takes in the ease in which Alice delivered it. “Didn’t know that was a thing they could do.”

“Has a Cohen ever cared if they’re not allowed to do something?”

He licks his lips. “Gladys?”

“Yes, also a Cohen.”

“No, I mean where’s she? What’s she been up to?”

Alice’s mouth snaps shut. She fixes him with that look that makes him feel like she’s trying to read beneath his words. He’s still vaguely aware of Fred and Mary hollering away upstairs but he doesn’t break eye contact. He raises an eyebrow.

“Gladys?” she repeats as if the word’s foreign to her. As if she didn’t already acknowledge who Gladys Cohen was five seconds ago.

“Yeah. Gladys.” He snaps the words with a little more force than he means. Alice opens her mouth but before a word comes out he keeps going. “You know. Short dark hair. Dark eyes.” He waves his hand back and forth a few times right above Alice’s head. “Yea high.”

She smacks his hand away with a quickness he wouldn’t expect of someone in her condition. 

“I know who Gladys is, jackass.” She rolls her eyes as he nurses his sore hand. “Do I look stupid to you?”

There’s a smartass remark in his throat about her and Hal still not knowing how to use condoms, but he holds it in, tells himself he’s not still that person. 

“So you don’t know where Gladys is or -”

“Why do you want to know?” She crosses her arms back over her chest. “God, FP. You always toed the line of selfishness but if you think I’m just going to -”

“Selfish?” he laughs. “When have I ever done anything for myself? I’m the least selfish person around.”

He knows none of this is true and Alice does too because she rightfully goes on.

“Listen here, Forsythe.” She waves a finger in his face. “If I could have stopped you from reconnecting with Fred, to showing up for this wedding, I would have. You hurt people when you left, okay? And,” she waves her finger as his mouth opened, “do not mention me leaving, because that was different. Hal and I left for school. Mary left for school. We didn’t pack up and leave for the army without a word. Maybe you’re already here with Fred, but if you think I’m going to let you waltz back into Gladys’ life too -”

“So she is still in town?”

Alice huffs. “She is not your backup person, FP, and don’t you ever forget that.” Without a look over her shoulder she yells, “I’m heading home, Mary!” She walks to the door and before opening it gives him a final look. “If you need some ammunition while staying here just tell Fred we called Spiffany’s for a gift receipt and that stupid punch bowl cost $550.” She shakes her head. “Without the ladle.”

* * *

“It’s hard to miss anyone in a small town.”

It’s all Mary says to him when he asks about Gladys later. Doesn’t meet his eyes or push the subject. He's washing dishes and she’s drying and she thinks he doesn’t notice the way she eyes each dish as he hands it to her, examining it for remains of their dinner, but he does.

“No shit,” he says after he asks her for the third time. “But I figure there isn’t much point in looking for someone if they’re long gone.”

“Hmm.” She takes her time drying the final dish, a chipped ceramic serving bowl that he recognizes from Bunny Andrew’s kitchen. A more practical piece than any lavish punch bowl overnighted from Manhattan. “Well I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Yes or no would be simple enough.”

Mary doesn’t give him a yes or no. Instead she polishes the serving bowl to perfection with her head tilted to the side. With the water off they can hear a guitar being tuned from the garage. Fred got out of dishwasher duty under the guise of ‘digging up an old relic.’

The guitar. He coulda shoulda woulda guessed. He hands Mary dishes and she puts them away one by one. They cringe together when a bad note plays and it happens more often than not because Fred’s guitar playing was mediocre at best and his tuning skills were flat out nonexistent. 

But still. There is a smile on Mary’s face FP is happy to see. She laughs once or twice to herself when Fred starts singing over the two or three strings he knows. She blushes when she catches him looking.

“He really missed you, FP.” Her voice is soft and sad and he doesn’t like Mary talking in that tone. Mary who’d always been one of the strongest people he's known. “I’m not talking out of jealousy here, just facts. He’s been happier today than he was the day I said I’d marry him. And I’m glad. He needs you, FP. And I think you need him too.”

Mary loves Fred and Fred loves her. There are tears glistening in her eyes and as much as he thought staying here would be a good idea, coming back, he feels like an intruder in their home. 

He pulls Mary into a hug and she’s sniffling into his shirt. The tuning doesn’t lighten up from the garage and neither does Fred signing Born in the USA.

“I’m sorry,” Mary finally says, wiping her eyes with a laugh. “Spending too much time with Alice and her damn hormones are rubbing off on me.”

“You’re not -”

“No!” she says quickly. “Of course not. Don’t put any ideas in Fred’s head. Let us get married first at least.”

Babies. Kids. Weddings. And he really doesn’t belong. In these cozy homes in the suburbs he’s little more than a houseguest. Just like he’s always been.

“I’m going to go for a walk.”

Mary protests. Tries to hand off her car keys to him at the very least. He’s too embarrassed to tell her his license is nearly two years expired and he’ll deal with that when it comes to it. He wins in the end. Grabs his flannel out of his room and a spare front door key that he accepts from Mary but knows he won’t use.

He almost grabs his duffle too but he thinks of the look Mary will give him and leaves it. He can come back for it tomorrow.

“You are coming back, right?” she asks as if reading his mind. “Like tonight?”

“I just got back, Mare. Where could I go?”

There’s a pout on her face. “Don’t leave us again so soon, okay?” She closes the door behind him. “And don’t break any hearts tonight.”

He almost asks what that means but the door is closed and he’s already walking towards the tracks.

* * *

It's hard to miss anyone in a small town. There are only so many places to go. To hide. To live out your years getting older and fatter. 

Drunker.

He walks. The walk from those tree lined streets of the northside to the Pops takes him a leisurely twenty-five minutes but he’s in no rush. No rush makes him realize only another five minutes will get him to another watering hole. A place where he can wet his whistle not in milkshakes but in tap beer and watered-down whiskey. His feet travel there before he knows what he’s doing.

He doesn’t drink like he did back in high school. Doesn’t think he could now if he wanted to. But there’s no call to booze for him. Not like there was with his father and probably his father before him. One or two won’t do any more damage than the last seven years have after all.

The Whyte Wyrm looks exactly the same as it did back in ‘93 and, besides the handicap parking sign that’s been added near the entrance, it almost could be ‘93 again. Some of the bikes parked are ones he recognizes. Ones passed down from father to son or lost in poker games between friends or enemies. And the inside is no better. The pool table may or may not have been refelted in recent years and someone’s drawn a mustache and goatee on the picture of President Clinton on the wall, but he may as well be seventeen again. 

A few eyes turn to him as he comes in, but the floorboards don’t creak and the music doesn’t stop short. There isn’t thunderous applause at his appearance, nor is there an uproar at him showing his ugly mug around here again. A few faces show immediate recognition, but no one offers more than a nod before turning their attention back to their drinks or their games or the stage.

“Beer,” he mutters to the baby faced bartender who doesn’t look a day over fifteen and probably isn’t. The kid raises a brow but makes no move to get his drink.

“You got cash?” he asks, his voice a little too holier-than-thou considering where they were. FP glares but a hand squeezes his shoulder before he can reach for his wallet.

“Jones is welcome here,” a gruff voice behind him says and Thomas Topaz’s is walking away just as soon as he came over. The kid shrugs and hands him a beer and doesn’t wait around to take his money. Just makes a mark on a legal pad that showed he was starting a tab.

“Hey,” he licks his lips and the kid looks up, “how about a shot of whiskey while I have your attention?”

He loves that the kid doesn’t ask what kind because this is a dive bar in Riverdale and everyone knows whatever booze didn’t fall off the back of a truck was purchased at Costlow and poured into nicer bottles. He raises his glass to the kid but he’s already wandering away to pay attention to the leather clad girls a few stools down. He downs his shot and leaves the kid a dollar tip he doesn’t deserve. 

The men at the pool table are old and the ones at the dart board are young. He opts instead to lean against a wall and nurse his beer. The music is loud and instead of the normal medley of whatever records still work in the jukebox, there’s actually a live band tonight.

“ _ And the sky was all violet _ _  
_ _ I want to give the violent more violets _ _  
_ _ And I'm the one with no soul _ _  
_ _ One above and one below _ ”

Band is a generous word. A girl in a short black collared dress plays guitar and sings and looks like the only one who knows what she’s doing. The guy on drums is too tall and uncomfortable to be sitting on the tiny stool and the kid on bass - yes, most certainly no older than the bartender - has greasy hair obscuring most of his face. The keyboard sits unmanned.

“ _ Might last a day yeah _ _  
_ _ Mine is forever _ _  
_ _ Might last a day yeah _ _  
_ _ Mine is forever _ ”

He knows he’s no one to judge because back in high school The Fredheads weren’t even this put together. Fred on guitar and vocals and him usually on drums. They filled the rest with Tom or Gladys or whoever -

“ _ I told you from the start, just how this would end _ _  
_ _ When I get what I want and I never want it again _ ”

He blinks a few times. Her hair is long now. Not long, long but well past her shoulders and longer than she’d ever kept it in high school. 

She screams the chorus. 

“ _ Go on take everything, take everything, I want you to _ _  
_ _ Go on take everything, take everything, I want you to _ __  
_ If I don’t mind, you don’t mind _ _  
_ __ Go on take everything, take everything, I want you to ”

He downs his beer and doesn’t realize that his feet have carried him to the stage. Gladys wipes her forehead with a towel and from here he can see she even has some makeup on her eyes. Smudged from the sweat and heat but maybe she smudges it like that on purpose. 

When her head pops up he raises his glass to her to get her attention. She locks on him immediately and gives him a smile but he can’t tell if there’s any recognition in her eyes or not.

“This one’s an oldie.” The mic is shit and her voice sounds like a mix of sultry and staticy. She starts another song and he doesn’t know this one either. Back at the bar he asks for a second beer and, you know what, whatever the singer of the band is drinking.

The kid gives him a weird look but pours out two more tap beers. He looks like he wants to say something before handing the drinks off but thinks better and just turns away. 

On stage, Gladys and her ragtag band finish a song. Another girl - another teenager - has jumped in on the keyboard and she isn’t very good either but Gladys seems to make up for it.

“Thanks folks. We -” Gladys just getting out before the jukebox starts blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd and she looks peeved but swings her guitar around on its strap and walks off stage.

FP extends the beer. His smile is genuine and he’s happy to see her and he knows this is the person who won’t coddle him like Fred or walk on eggshells around him like Mary or rip him a new asshole like Alice. Gladys is the one who’ll give it to him straight and not let her bias get in the way.

She smiles and takes the beer with two hands as she walks past him. “Thanks, good looking, but you’re not my type.” She winks and walks towards the door to the back.

The kid at the bar meets his eyes and shrugs but he’s smiling, the little shit. FP’s grounded for a moment before he collects himself and takes off after her.

“Gladys! Gi!” He shoves aside the curtain that leads to the back. She turns around with her beer to her lips and raises a brow. “It’s me.” She lowers the glass and stares. “FP.”

“Yes.” Her voice is flat and the smile gone now that they’re alone. “I know who you are.”

The back is empty and he’s glad no one’s around to see this exchange. His face grows hot. “What’s up?”

“What’s up.” It comes out as a statement not a question. She blinks. “What is up indeed.”

He licks his lips and pouts in that way that always got her to roll her eyes and give in to him. “I missed you. How’ve you been?”

That evokes some emotion in her. Her head falls back and she laughs in that full, genuine way she does when someone really tickles her. “Forsythe fucking Jones.” He cringes at that but she smiles. “Only you’d have the fucking chutzpah to disappear without a trace and come back after this many years and pretend we’re all peachykeen.”

“Hoots-what?” he asks. Even though her tone isn’t malicious, he’s sweating. “Gi, I only just -”

“Got to town? What? You have amnesia all these years? Like you didn’t write to Fred or come back and visit for a few weeks four years ago?” She raises her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh was that a secret?”

He’s really sweating now. “I -”

“It’s okay,” she smirks, “I won’t tell Mary how you hid out in Fred’s house for weeks -”

“It wasn’t like that!”

She finishes her beer and puts the glass down. “I don’t care, Forsythe.” She sighs. “Some people certainly would but I don’t. And that you’ve always wanted to hide this part of you -”

“I wasn’t in the army this whole time.” He swallows. “I’m sorry I never told you I was enlisting and I’m sorry I never said goodbye but maybe I just knew you wouldn’t approve and maybe - maybe I really didn’t say goodbye to anyone.”

“You said goodbye to -”

“Fred’s different.” Gladys says it with him and it’s then that her sarcastic grin fades and it’s replaced with a sad one. She shakes her head. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, handsome.” She sighs and fingers the strap of her guitar. “If I invite you back to my place you’re not going to get any wrong ideas are you?”

“What’s a wrong idea?” And he knows it’s the wrong thing to say before it even comes out but he can never resist a set up. Nothing ever really changes. 

She turns on her heel and he follows and by some miracle she doesn’t stop him. 

“Shouldn’t you tell someone you’re leaving?” he asks as they exit the parking lot. “Don’t you work there?”

“Does anyone really work at the Wyrm?” she asks. “I play there for myself, not the money.”

“What do you do for money?”

“I work at a garage during the week and Shop and Stop on the weekend,” she says without a hint of embarrassment. “I look cute in the vest.”

“You want to get into music though? You’re still playing.” 

She gives him a hard look. “I play for fun, Forsythe. I’m not trying to be a rockstar or anything.” 

And of course she wouldn’t. She wasn’t Freddie. Gladys was too practical for unreachable dreams.

“Who says you can’t pack a bag and head off to the city to make it big?” he teases but she’s not biting. “Play some smokey little bar in the village.”

“Get real.” They enter the trailer park and she pulls a key out. “I don’t even write my own stuff. No time.”

“Oh.” He’s let down. “I really liked that first song you played. Thought it was yours.”

They walk the steps to the trailer Gladys and her mom shared once upon a time. “It’s Hole, dummy.”

“Who?”

“Hole.” Gladys opens the door. “Courtney Love’s band?”

“Oh.” He frowns. “She killed Kurt Cobain, you know. What a sh-”

He’s slammed against the door as soon as he steps in and Gladys has a hand half way around his throat. For a split second he thinks she was joking about the wrong idea thing and she’s going to kiss him, but her elbow presses into his chest and he knows he’s sorely mistaken.

“Don’t you ever repeat that bullshit in front of me, Jones, you hear?”

He nods but she still waits a few seconds before she lightens her grip and lets him go. 

“Sorry,” he chokes and fixes his shirt. “Didn’t realize it was such a sore subject -”

“Well it is,” she snaps and sounds more mad than she did about him not contacting her in seven years. “Talking bullshit about a woman murdering her husband, you piece of - you really think - why am I not even -” She takes her guitar off and stares at him. “What are you doing here, FP?”

It’s the first time she’s used his nickname today and it sounds almost foreign coming out of her mouth. “You invited me here.”

“Here I mean.” She waves her arms around. “In Riverdale. You got out.” She crosses her arms and looks suspicious. “Why come back?”

He answers without even thinking of lying. “Freddie invited me to his wedding.”

She considers. “That it?”

“I had nowhere else to go.”

“Where were you before?”

“Just before?” She nods. “Florida. Can I sit?”

He takes a seat on her blue sofa but Gladys keeps her position. “Before Florida?”

“New Orleans. And before that Austin.” He thinks. “Might have been Wyoming or Denver before that.”

Gladys narrows her gaze. “Nice try. No one actually lives in Wyoming.”

“Funny.”

She looks down at her clothes and goes to what he remembers being her mom’s room all those years ago. “When did you leave the army?” she calls though the half open door.

“I only lasted eighteen months,” he admits. “I was discharged,” a word catches on his tongue, “dishonorably.”

“Oh?” Her head pops out through the door. “Do tell.”

He flashes back to getting Caught with a capital C. Caught with that poor townie who was just looking for some action like him. To his biggest fear back in high school, that he’d get found out. That his dad would know. That Fred’s parents would know and hate him. That he’d lose that pseudo family he formed. That he’d lose Fred for it. That everyone would know know know. 

“No.” He shrugs. “Maybe another day.”

Another hard look. “Okay.” And she disappears behind the door again. “What were you bouncing around the country doing?”

“Construction mostly.” He picks up a TV Guide off the coffee table and flips through it. “Odd jobs. Nothing interesting.”

She steps out of her bedroom in a pair of long sleeved baby blue pajamas that look like they may be made out of silk. He lets out a snort. 

“What the hell are those?”

“Oh, you don’t like?” Gladys holds out her arms and spins around once. The bottoms are long and fall just short of her ankles. “Alice gave them to me for my birthday and got all pissy when I asked exactly when I am supposed to wear these things. ‘No one is going to see them’ I said and ‘Just wear them when you’re entertaining!’ she says.” She shakes her head. “Apparently you can take the southside out of the girl. Who would have thought?”

“You can’t though.” He thinks of Alice spitting venom at him, pastels or not. “Not really.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” She shrugs. 

“Only no one ever really says tomahto, do they?” Gladys sits next to him on the couch and pulls her feet up. “Alice told you I was in town I guess.”

“Nope, Mary. Told me you’d be staying with them indefinitely.”

He swallows because Fred told him it was Mary’s idea he stay with them in the first place. 

“I’m only here for the wedding,” he stammers out even though the wedding is still two months away. “Then I’m back on the road.”

“Why?” She hesitates but puts a hand on his shoulder. “Something brought you back to Riverdale. Why leave again?”

“Freddie brought me back, that’s it.” He tries shrugging off her touch, her questions, but it doesn’t work. “He wants me to be his best man and how could I say no to that?”

“It’s tough to say no when you love someone.” She takes her hand off him and fiddles with one of the buttons on her top. “Alice asked me to be her maid of honor, you know. Probably went against her mother-in-law's wishes, she still asked me. And,” she sighs, “I said no. I don’t love Alice. Not like that at least.” She plays with a strand of her hair. “Not anymore at least. But it didn’t feel right. I had to put up that wall between us so we could both just, you know, move on. Live our separate lives.” She stops her fidgeting hand. “Alice is happy now and I’m glad for her. We’re never going to get back what we had in high school. That connection. Or even be friends like we used to be. But I take comfort in knowing she’s happy now, even if I’m not the reason for it.”

“You,” he feels his heart thud, “you don’t think - I shouldn’t have come back? I shouldn’t do it?”

“I’m not saying that, baby.” His hands are shaking and she pulls him into a hug against her chest. “I just think you need to figure out these feelings before you insert yourself into Fred’s world again. Into Fred and Mary’s house. Right before their wedding.” She pats his head. “I know you’re not a homewrecking slut.”

He laughs so he doesn’t cry. “He loves her.” And he’s hugging Gladys back and he can just make out their reflections on the screen of the tv. “I know he loves Mary and, hell, I love her too. I didn’t come here to mix up anything between them. I just want to be here for them.”

“I know, I know.” His hair is long and she’s able to curl a piece around her finger. They’ve been in this situation before, in this very trailer, on his very sofa, having this same conversation. “Fred needs a partner.” He tries to speak but she shushes him. “Someone to run the business with him, I mean. You know he started his own little company right? Him and a few guys? Andrews Construction.”

“Sure,” he says even though the answer is no. 

“He’s got the start up money and he just needs a few more guys he can trust and he wants to ask you but,” she sighs, “you’re a little flakey, FP. Everyone is telling him you’re going to run out on him eventually.”

“My life story,” he mutters and she hits his head playfully. “Who’s everyone?”

“Mary, Bunny, Alice, Hal, Hal’s parents probably, they're always getting involved.” She shrugs. “Me.”

“Bunny loves me.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve broken her son’s heart before, FP. Mother’s don’t forget.”

He remembers what Alice said about Bonnie. “Your mom really took off to Toledo?” She nods. “You miss her?”

“Of course I miss her.”

“I’ve been there. It's a shithole. Why didn’t you follow her?”

“Because it’s a shithole,” she laughs. “Riverdale is my home, like it or not.”

“Yeah.” And he can’t admit as scared as he was to come back, he’s still felt more at ease today than he has the last several years. The novelty of joining the army faded before basic training was over and after that it was just a matter of time before he slipped, before he fucked up enough to get caught, to get booted out. Then he wandered. A few short weeks back in Riverdale a few years ago hardly did him any good when all Fred did was talk about Mary, Mary, Mary off at school upstate but still snuck into his bed every night after Bunny went to sleep. “Me too.”

They lay there together for a long time, neither bothering to turn on the tv yet staring at the empty screen all the same. He thinks about what Alice said about Gladys being his backup and he hates that everyone seems to think so low of him.

“You have a spare room, right?” he finally breaks the silence when he feels himself about to fall asleep. He wonders if Fred and Mary are still up waiting for him. If Fred would get worked up enough to look for him. How part of him wants that.

Gladys waits a bit to answer him. “I don’t even have a bed in there anymore.”

“I can get my own. Just - just let me stay here for a bit? Until I find my own place. I have some savings, I’ll be able to pay you rent.” She lets go of her grip on him. “No funny business, I promise.”

There’s a long moment where she stares him down and he’s sure she’s going to say no. She finally gets out, “You need to go back to Fred’s tonight and tell him yourself though. I won’t have him worried about you.”

He knows Fred and Mary will tell him to stay under their roof where they can keep an eye on him and where the serpents can’t lure him back in when they’re so close. He knows Alice will think his intentions with Gladys are impure and maybe she just doesn’t want Gladys to be his backup because Alice thinks Gladys is her backup. Maybe he’ll wait for Fred to approach him about the job and maybe he’ll see what happened to his dad’s old trailer. Or maybe he'll panic before this wedding and leave Riverdale again.

After all, nothing ever really changes here. 


End file.
